Pacific Vortex!: A Novel
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DIRK PITT’S FIRST, MOST TERRIFYING ADVENTURE!
Dirk Pitt, death-defying adventurer and deep-sea expert, is put to the ultimate test as he plunges into the perilous waters of the Pacific Vortex—a fog-shrouded area where dozens of ships have vanished without a trace. The latest victim is the awesome supersub Starbuck, bearing America’s deep-diving nuclear arsenal. Its loss poses an unthinkable threat to national defense. Pitt’s job is to find it and salvage it before international forces beat him to the prize or the sea explodes in a nuclear blast—whichever comes first. Pitt’s mission also leads him into the arms of Summer Moran, the most stunningly exotic and dangerous woman ever to enter his life. As the countdown heads toward disaster, Pitt has no choice but to descend through the shark-infested depths to an ancient sunken island, from which he may never again emerge to see the light of day.
even reach it. A contortionist four feet tall might have been able to get his hands on the Mauser’s grip, but not six-foot three-inch Pitt The next option was to simply stop the car, get out, lean back in and grab the gun from behind the seat, unwrap the towel that covered it, pop off the safety, and begin firing. The only problem was the timing. The old truck was too close. The hook-nosed driver could have stopped his truck and pumped five shots into Pitt’s guts before he’d even reached the
moving thing, changing shape and personality under the constant onslaught of the wind and waves. He studied the swells as they rolled in from their storm-rocked birthplace thousands of miles at sea, rising and increasing their velocity when their troughs felt the shallow bottom. Changing from swell to breaker, they rose higher and highereight feet, Pitt judgedfrom trough to crest before they toppled and broke, pounding themselves into a thundering mass of foam and spray. Then they died in
table, cabinets filled with neatly labeled bottles, surgical instruments, an X-ray machine, and even a dentist’s chair. There was also a crumpled shape lying between the beds that jutted from the far bulkhead. Pitt bent down, although he knew who the inert form had to be. March was lying on his side, his arms and legs twisted in rubbery grotesqueness, his body fluid circling the body in a congealing pool. Two small round holes bled on a direct line from his chest to the back of his spine; he lay
asked. Boland looked at him, mesmerized by Pitt’s urgency. “Minnesota. Why?” “God, I haven’t smelled this in years,” Pitt said. “Eucalyptus trees are common around Southern California. They have a distinct aroma and yield an oil used for inhalation purposes.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “I agree, but there’s no denying the fact that this fog reeks of eucalyptus.” Boland flexed his fingers, speaking to Pitt without facing him. “What do you suggest?” In simple English, I suggest we get the
a soft, smooth substance. “A curtain,” he mumbled to no one. *A lousy curtain.” He parted the folds and stumbled into a fairyland of gleaming black statuary and blue velvet-covered walls. The huge room was decorated with delicately sculptured fish in ebony stone imbedded in a deep indigo carpet. The carpet was unlike anything Pitt had ever seen. It encased his feet to the ankles. He looked up and saw that the entire fantastic setting was reflected in a gigantic mirror which spanned the ceiling